


Bone Dreams (m)

by SamShep



Series: Bone Dreams (an Undertale choose your own adventure) [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Adorable Sans, All choices are valid, Angst, Choose Your Own Adventure, Cis Female Character, Cis Male Character, Diary/Journal, E-mail, Epistolary, F/M, Fluff, Humor, M/M, No sex though, Nonbinary Character, Other, POV Second Person, Poetry, Rated M for Sexual Themes, Sans Is Ness Theory, Sans is a brat, Sans is not actually a skeleton, Skeleton Jokes, Skeleton Puns, Swearing, Texting, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, You Choose Gender of Main Character, and Reader likes it when Sans pins their wrists down, and is actually chubby, chubby sans, he is shaped very much like a human though, he just looks like a skeleton, not yet anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-02-16 21:16:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13062303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamShep/pseuds/SamShep
Summary: You keep having these strange dreams. Dreams about doing research with a monster, a smiling skeleton named Sans. They feel so real they could be memories.Are you going crazy?What should you do?[A Choose Your Own Adventure](In effort to make Bone Dreams more accessible to people of differing preferences and ages I have partitioned out the content with different ratings. This is where the mature content of Bone Dreams resides.)-> GotoBone Dreams Start





	1. Hi!

Welcome Reader!

If you are reading this chapter than you have stumbled upon this story not as intended. You actually want to click **Goto The Beginning** to start this Undertale choose your own adventure at the beginning. This is just a couple chapters (the mature rated ones) in the middle of the story.

[Goto The Beginning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12565772/chapters/29262303#pagetop)

Highlight if you want to know how to get this content:  To get this (mature rated) content you must choose to **journal** , **romance** Sans, focus on **research** and then choose **compassion** over communication.


	2. Compassion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **Warnings:** Mild sexually themed content, clothed and non-explicit.

. . .

You sit at your kitchen table, sipping coffee and staring at the mug you bought yesterday for Sans.

At the time you were thinking, 'Well, I'm getting him some beverages, I should grab him his own cup too.' And then you found an adorable coffee mug with a pickle and the words "Dill With It."

It seemed perfect.

 _But..._ you chickened out last night and didn't give it to him because you started to worry you were coming on a little strong.

Like, 'Here have three kinds of drinks and a cup! I want you to feel welcome and stay all day everyday forever!'

So, anyway...

Now you and the cup are having a staring contest.

It's definitely winning.

You sigh. You're _probably_ going to give it to him. You've been trying to do this new thing. It goes something's like:

_Do the things you're afraid to do so you can stop being afraid to do them._

It seems good in theory, but in practice? Still fucking scary. Maybe if you understood your hangups better? What are you afraid of?

You bite your lip and ponder about it.

Probably just that he will think you want to date him (which is actually true) and feel the need to tell you that just isn't going to happen (which would certainly suck but it's not like the _end_ of the world).

So, alright. Worst case? Just a little bit of rejection.

Best case scenario? It will cheer him up.

And yesterday something was definitely bothering him. You wanted to help but, after he expertly avoided your probing, you let it go and analyzed quietly to yourself. And what did you determine?

Absolutely nothing. You have no fucking clue what's eating at him. Grr.

Whatever, it's time to head to class. And it's a busy day; class, meetings, and then tonight, homework with Kate followed by research with Sans. Actually, now that you think about it, Sans might get here first; maybe you should leave a note so he knows this mug is his.

You carefully print the words on a post-it and stick it to the cup.

>   
>  Hi Sans!  
>  I'm your cup!  
> 

While you walk to class you realize you don't actually know if you're relieved or disappointed you won't get to see his reaction.

Man, things would be so much easier if you could just stop crushing on him like this.

You wake up.

. . .

"Okay, I have to ask about the tape squares," Kate says during your homework session. "I saw the one at your apartment, and that was weird, but you have one here in your office too, what's up with that?"

"That's ...a good question..." How do you even answer this? The squares are Sans' designated teleport locations. You and Sans set them up so he always has a safe and empty space to move into. You realize it's suddenly really important to you to tell her the truth. "Let me get back to you about it, okay?"

"Fuck you're being weird, but okay. I'm holding you to it."

"Deal."

You pull out your phone, you've been texting with Sans.

sans  
  
**9/3/17** 4:55 PM  
Me: Hey, running late, you can get started without me.  
  
Me: This homework problem is being a bitch and Kate and I don't want to quit until we take it out.  
  
sans: already here and working kid  
  
**9/3/17** 5:10 PM  
sans: by the way, thanks for the cute cup  
Me: You're welcome.   


You text him the question. 

sans  
  
**9/3/17** 5:25 PM  
Me: Sans, can I tell Kate about you?  
  
sans: do whatever you want  
  
sans: you can trust her?  
  
Me: Yeah, we can trust Kate.  
  
Me: But… she's probably going to want to meet you.  
  
sans: this is important to you?  
  
Me: Yeah.  
  
sans: ok  
  


You turn to your best friend as she underlines her answer with a flourish. "Done! Woot!" Kate exclaims, tossing her pencil on the table and throwing her arms up in victory.

She looks to you and you impersonate a deer in the headlights.

 _"So,_ what's your plan now?" she asks. "You've been texting someone like crazy, got big plans tonight? It's a date, isn't it?" She's a little too interested.

You try to say it casually, "Just um--research--at my apartment--with my--uh--new research partner."

Wow. You failed _miserably._

"You have a new research partner?! Do I know them?"

"Uh... no."

"You're being super coy about this, weirdo. Are they hot? Do you like them?"

"That's not really relevant…"

"Oh my god! You totally like them! They're at your place right now? Let's go, you can introduce them to me."

You sigh, "Okay." You've already relinquished the lead on this one. "I actually asked him if that was cool because I thought you might want to meet him. But... there's something you need to know about him before we get there.

"Sure, whatever dude. Tell me on the way."

You and Kate pack up your stuff, you sling your bag over your shoulder. Kate hooks hers on the back of her wheelchair.

You're halfway into the 10 minute walk and you still haven't figured out how to explain Sans. Kate takes the lead again: she looks over to you with a pointed look letting you know she thinks you're being ridiculous. "Okay, quit stalling. Seriously, what do you need to tell me? I've been racking my brain and I have no fucking clue what would need to be _preemptively explained."_

"He's a skeleton," you blurt.

Her eyebrows come together. "Like… he's really thin?"

"Ah, no. He's actually a little chubby. What I mean is he's a magical being."

"Are you sure your romantic interest in him isn't relevant here?"

"I know it sounds crazy, but he's actually magic. Like he can teleport and turn lights on with his glowy eye magic."

"Is this some more of that open minded shit you like to talk about? Faith in the mystical side of the Universe and whatnot?"

"I mean, that's probably why I was able to just go with it as well as I did--"(for some reason that statement required a swoopy hand motion)"--but that's not the point--you just need to know you're about to meet a, frankly fucking adorable, skeleton monster guy. Prepare yourself for that, okay?"

"You're totally serious."

"As a heart attack. So, uh, please don't freak out on him," you beg. "He's sweet--and a huge dork--and you're actually going to love him."

"Well, I'm fucking sold. Cute-chubby-nerd-magical-monster-skeleton-guy."

You snort, relieved.

When you unlock your door, you say in warning, "Hey Sans, it's me and Kate." When you get the door fully open he's already standing, smile in his eyes, not just his mouth.

You close the door quickly behind Kate and then say, "Sans, Kate. Kate, Sans," motioning between them.

"Fuckin' A," Kate says.

"I know, right?" you smile at Kate, and then Sans; you can already tell this is going to go great.

"Hi, I'm the best friend," Kate says, rolling up and holding out her hand.

"Research partner," Sans says shaking Kate's offered hand. "And, charmed," he adds with a wink.

"You weren't exaggerating about the adorable part," Kate states bluntly.

"Kate!" you scold.

Sans looks over at you and raises an eyebrow. Your face goes warm.

"Oh, are you blushing, babe?" Kate continues, "You didn't want him to know you think he's adorable? _Interesting."_

"Oh my god, Kate, _stop_."

"Sans, darling, I hope you will enjoy embarrassing our mutual friend as much as I do," Kate says in betrayal.

"I have dabbled," Sans admits. "But, Kate, I'd be open to some tips from an expert."

"Oh my god!" you say as you realize this was a terrible plan. "I have the worst friends."

You wake up.

. . .

You're walking home late for a night of homework and studying. You've got fuel to keep you going, coffee (lukewarm but still good) and music (thank you noise-canceling headphones!).

You unlock your door with your key, walk in and then close the door by slumping against it.

You take a second, in the unlit room, for a breather and then glance up--there's someone standing three feet from you.

"Ahhhh!" You send the cup in your hand sailing at the intruder and then register who it is. "Oh my god!" You flip the switch and see Sans.

"Didyajust… throw your _Starbucks_ at me?" Sans asks, looking decidedly damp.

"I'm _so_ sorry," you say, mortified.

"My hoodie is drenched. Good thing your aim is terrible Kid," he continues, "I think you we're going for my skull, but you hit the wall above me instead."

"Oh my god. That was _terrifying."_ You replace all the oxygen you just used activating every one of your cells for fight or flight then say, "And, dammit, Sans, I could have hurt you! _Dude,_ you gotta warn me next time you're going to go poofing into my apartment!"

"I don't 'poof' anywhere," he corrects you.

"You know what I mean," you glare, "the _thing_ you do."

"What I do is definitely not called _'poofing.'"_

"Yes, yes, fine," you concede, "tele- _poofing."_

He snorts.

"Here, take off your hoodie, I can wash it."

"Nah, I'm good," he shrugs, coffee still literally dripping off his face.

 _"Dude,_ you just said you're drenched. You're going to get cold."

"Skeletons don't get cold."

Your look tells him you are not buying that. "Then why the hell do you wear _a hoodie?"_

"I like having pockets."

You snort. "What? That hardly makes sense."

"So what you're saying is... it makes a little bit of sense."

"No!" After a moment you concede, "It makes _Sans_ e, maybe."

"So the best kind of sense," he's giving you smirky eyes. You shake your head but let him have this one.

After you clean the coffee mess off your tile you walk over to the table to set up your homework. Sans already has his laptop set up to work next to you. You need a drink now, though, since your coffee is toast. A water bottle would be good, you can even grab Sans his ketchup. You open the fridge door.

You take a surprised step backwards.

Then you start laughing. Every object in your fridge stares at you with it's own set of googly eyes.

Your apples have been turned on their sides with googly eyes stuck to their apple butts so they give you little surprised "o" faces like you caught them with their pants down. Mini eyes on each of your eggs peak at you though the top of the carton. Front and center is a jar of pickles that wasn't there before, googly eyes have been attached to each pickle _inside_ of the jar.

You glance over at Sans. He watches you closely and looks very proud of himself.

"Oh my god, _this_ is why you snuck in!"

"Dill with it, Kiddo," Sans says. You start laughing again.

You grab your goofy looking water bottle and ketchup for Sans, making sure the eyes are staring at him when you set it down. "Your ketchup is judging you," you tell him.

"Good thing I have no regrets," he says smugly.

You have a little trouble getting focused and have to turn your water bottle so it stops staring at you. You keep feeling the need to reciprocate it's derpy expression.

You're finally starting the first homework problem when you notice Sans is actually shivering a tad.

"Okay, Sans, _seriously,_ won't you let me do something? I feel bad."

He turns to study you and his expression softens, "Hell, Kid, here," he says, grabbing his drink, "let me pour some of my ketchup on you and we'll call it even."

 _"What?!"_ you say incredulous, "That's a terrible idea."

"Come on, I really think you'll feel better."

"How does wearing condiments help anything?!"

"Here, just try it."

He turns the open bottle over above your lap. The cap falls off and all the contents of the bottle hit your legs and splatter. You're pretty sure you're even wearing some on your face.

"Whoops, that came out fast." You look at him, speechless. He doesn't look the slightest bit apologetic. "Heh. There, isn't that better?" he says.

"No!" You look at the mess and try to figure out what you're going to do now. Then you get an idea. "Actually, you know what, yeah, I think it is better. The healing power of ketchup. Here, _how about I share some of it with you."_ You scoop a handful of it off your lap and go for his face.

Now he looks startled. You grin evilly at him but he blocks your hand.

"The color works better for you," he says, "Red doesn't do it for me, it's a little too... zombie."

He holds your wrist away from him with a lot more strength than you would have guessed.

Fine. He can block your hand, but can he block your whole body? You shift from your chair to his and straddle him. Then you pin him with your hips to the back of the chair sharing all your healing ketchup power.

"Ha!" you say victoriously, then smugly add, "There, isn't _that_ better?"

The smile falls off your face when you register the expression on his. Wide eyes hold yours, a blue tinge spreads across his cheekbones. His chest is moving up and down quickly with his fast breath.

The effect is very distracting.

"Oh," you say quietly.

You can't look away from his face. Sans can't seem to stop staring at you either. And while Sans' trouble seems to be getting enough oxygen, you have the opposite problem. You take in a deep lungful of air when you realize you forgot to breathe.

Then you shift your un-ketchuped hand to touch his cheek.

He's warm. It's surprising.

You bite your lip, then decide you're gunna risk it. "Sans," you whisper, "I'd really like to kiss you right now."

You wake up.

Research With Sans

To: Kate

Date: September 24, 2017

From: Me

Almost positive Sans and I were a thing. I am dying to tell you about it. My place later, okay.

In other news, I've started piecing together what we did for our research. I still don't know exactly _why_ we did it; this is so different from what I planned to do for my thesis.

Anyway, we started off analyzing my cosmic ray data and from there built a theory of tempo-spacial structure. Then we decided to focus on tempo-spacial disturbances, like portals between universes. We theorized we could create a device that would detect and map these disturbances by detecting small gravitational anomalies.

Then we made the device.

And that part is fucking crazy. How the hell did we do that? Sans must have brought a lot of knowledge to the table to make that one work. Hopefully I will dream about us building it or talking about it so I can actually replicate what we did. I can't do this without his help.

. . .

"Sans," you whisper, "I'd really like to kiss you right now."

Sans gives you a look and if a look could talk it'd be saying, _'oh, shit,'_ right now.

Apparently you read that wrong.

You think about taking it back, but you really _meant_ it so, no, you're going to let the statement stand in all it's mortifying glory. You dare him with your eyes to spine up and make a move one way or the other.

He starts looking even more panicked.

"Uh--you have ketchup all over your face," he blurts. "You should probably fix that--here, let me help."

Then he puts his hands under your thighs, stands up (holy shit, he's stronger than you thought!), and telepoofs you both into your standing shower. His left eye flashes blue and the shower turns on. He sets you down as the drops of warm water start raining down on the two of you.

You choke on a laugh of amused panic. _Oh my god, that just happened._ You try to glare at him, but you can't see through your lenses while they're covered by water. You move your glasses to your head so you can try the glare more effectively.

It fizzles: Sans is looking confused, damp, and a tad pitiful. You can't help but find him adorable. 

He reaches up to your face and runs his thumb across your chin. Then along your cheekbone. It feels like a caress.

"There, the ketchup's off," he whispers.

He doesn't take his hand back.

"I'm so confused right now," you say.

"Makes two of us."

You hold his eyes and he still doesn't make a move, toward or away. "Sans," you sigh, "if you didn't want to kiss me, you could have just told me. I can handle it." You bite your lip, waiting anxiously for the admission, but the lightpoints in his eyes track to your mouth and he starts breathing fast again.

You realize you might have read it right the first time.

"Sans?" you whisper.

"Yeah, Kid?"

"Kiss me, please?" you don't mean for it to come out quite that... breathlessly, but you're barely holding yourself back from mauling him and you really need some consent here.

"I can't," he whispers, "I physically can't."

"oh..."

"But I want to," he adds.

"You do?" you say, voice hopeful, because that's all that actually matters; that he wants you.

He shifts his thumb from your cheek to your lips, traces out their shape; a sliding feather touch with just the pad of his thumb.

"Very much so," he whispers.

Your eyes slide shut and you let out a sound that is some hybrid moan-whine-sigh; this touch _feels_ like a kiss.

"Fuck," Sans responds. He sounds surprised and turned on.

You open your eyes. Sans worked up is a fucking sight to behold. You want more.

You bring your hand up, cover his hand with yours. You guide his finger past your lips, it slides along your tongue and then you suck, hugging it with your cheeks.

 _"Fuck,"_ he says again. He leans into you, firm weight pushing your body against the wall.

You moan around his finger. His body feels _so good_ aligned with yours. It's sending sparks of electric warmth through your nerve endings and into your head. You grab a handful of drenched hoodie and pull him against you harder.

Every cell of your body rejoices.

You wake up.

[Date: September 28, 2017]  
Is fate a snarky bitch? Why do I wake up when I do? It's legit cruel.  
  
  
  
---  
  
. . .

You bite your lip debating, then decide, yeah, it's definitely time to be crazy. "Hey, Sans," you reach over, place your hand on top of his for a moment, like you're asking for all his attention, "I was thinking about the Distrupter today-- _and I've got an idea."_

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. So, you know how my headphones were tragically stolen last week? I was having a little trouble dealing and decided to try to get something out of the situation, learn a lesson or whatever. Then it hit me--a solution to our Distrupter problem."

"Not following yet, Kid. Explain."

"Right. So, you know how noise-canceling headphones cancel sound by creating a interfering wave? Exact same amplitude but opposite phase as the background noise? So, what if we added a second gravity crystal and made a second wave, a cancellation wave for the Distrupter wave? I think we could give it a boundary. I think we could stabilize it." You pause, because this is the coolest part, "Sans, I think we could _make a portal._ "

"Shit Einstein," Sans eyes go wide, "that might work."

"So, do you think you can get another gravity crystal?"

"I don't know," he looks to the side, thinking, then turns back to you and adds, "But I have a backup idea if we can't."

"What's your backup?"

"We could split the crystal in half. I think there is enough to make both the stabilizing wave and the destabilizing wave."

"Yeah, I didn't even _think of that."_

This is why you love the way it feels to work with Sans. The way you think is a great mix of similar and totally different. You fit together in a way that makes what you are together more than just you plus him. Makes each of you better as a person.

You bite your lip again, a little overexcited for this next part. You blurt, "So--I had another idea too."

His eyes reflect your enthusiasm back, "Yeah, Gizmo? What's your idea?"

"We should call it the _Skeleton Key."_

"Heh. That's _perfect."_

You beam at him; he loves it like you knew he would. You're feeling so proud of yourself you almost miss the coy tone Sans uses next.

"So, you still haven't found your headphones, huh?"

Your eyes go wide.

"Oh my god Sans, did you do something? You did something, didn't you?!"

"Stardust," he chastises, "I don't know where every tempo-spacially displaced object goes." His tone says _you're_ being ridiculous and his smile is the same as always but you swear the little brat looks _smug._

"Sans! I've been traumatized all week! _Where_ are they?" But, as soon as you ask, you realize you know the answer. You continue without giving him a chance to not-answer. "Sans," you say as calmly as you can manage, "fucking with my headphones was too far."

"Is that right Sassafras?" he says like he's daring you to do something about it.

You glare, "You sound like you want to be in trouble." He not-answers your not-question with more smugness. "In that case, I'm not doing anything." You see him finally get it and you concede, "Dial it back a couple clicks and then we'll talk about it."

"Noted," he says, tone finally serious. "Fair enough Kiddo. And... I'm sorry."

You wake up.

Good News and Bad News

To: Kate

Date: October 11, 2017

From: Me

The good news is I remembered the blueprints for the Detector. I also remembered the blueprints for the second device we were working on, the Skeleton Key.

The bad news is they both require a component that doesn't exist in our world.

I need something called a gravity crystal to make the devices work.

Fuck.

I don't know what to do. I'm going to keep doing the research, as much as I can anyway. But I think you are our best hope now Kate.

. . .

You were doing research together on the couch but Sans fell asleep on you. His head had started on your shoulder but you shifted and set aside your work and now he's laying in your lap. _Damn_ is he cute.

You feel a little creepy but you just sit there watching him sleep. It feels nice to be close. But after a bit you notice his eyebrows coming together. You frown, concerned; he must be dreaming something unpleasant.

Then you see him almost imperceptibly shake his head. He says, "no. ...no, Papyrus..." quietly. You've never seen his face _this_ unhappy.

You should do something? Right?

You see his breath hickup in a quiet sob and you finally take action and gently shake him awake.

"Sans, wake up. It's just a nightmare."

"Wha?" he says, his eyes going wide. He blinks several times, coming back to reality, then he squeezes his eyes shut.

"Just a nightmare, Sans," you reassure him again.

"Not a nightmare," he corrects automatically, "a memory."

"A memory?! Sans, what... _happened?"_ You're not sure if you should ask that, but how can you _not?_

He moves to sit up and then surprises you by actually answering. "I watched Papyrus die," he says, "I watched the anomaly kill him." Except that answer makes no sense.

"Anomaly? But... Sans, your brother is fine. You told me Papyrus almost burnt down the kitchen cooking with Undyne, _today."_

He meets your eyes, "In a different timeline Papyrus is murdered and I see it happen."

"Oh my god." You just stare at him for a moment unable to process that information. Before you can, he continues.

"For the past couple months I've been getting memories from different timelines."

"...timelines? Like collapsed timelines? That shit is real?"

Sans just nods, leans his elbows on his knees and puts his head in his hands.

This is so fucked up. What do you even say to that?

"That is so fucked up," you say. Though, you guess that explains why Sans can be sad sometimes. That would fuck anybody up. "It's the nightmares--I mean-- _memories,_ that have been bothering you, isn't it?" But then you remember his comment about losing you. "No… It's not just that," you realize in alarm. "You think this timeline will collapse too, don't you?"

He looks over to you, so much pain behind his eyes, and admits, "I know it will."

You wake up.

...

To: Kate

Date: October 17, 2017

From: Me

He did know it was all going to end. He knew the timeline was going to collapse the whole time.

. . .

You stare absently at the board games stacked on your dining table, then re-notice the sock hanging from the chandelier. You let out a little huff of a laugh. Kate was teasing you and Sans all night about how crazy the sex must be to get a sock stuck on the light _multiple times._ She chose not to believe you when you told her Sans leaves his socks in weird places just to mess with you.

Tonight was a lot of fun though. And technically not over. Kate left an hour ago, but Sans is still here.

You're cuddled together on your couch; Sans, on his back, breathing softly but not yet softly snoring; and you, laying ontop of him, both because you weigh less (he is surprisingly dense for his size) and because he's stronger (and not by a small margin). Your weight hardly phases him at all, actually.

You've got more on you than Sans' five-ish height so your feet are a bit farther down the couch as your head is laying over his chest. You can hear his heart beating and it makes you feel a soft kitten-like warm feeling in your gut. You love this moment. You've been trying to hold onto it, trying to savor and save it forever.

Worries keep trying to pull you away though.

You think about the heartbeat thing again. You've never asked how that works; being a skeleton with a heart, not to mention lungs, stomach, brain. There is something odd there, another intentional misdirection. You can sense it, but you don't ask. You never ask. He'll tell you or he won't. And if he doesn't, he must have a good reason not to.

Another thing you haven't asked about (at least not in action based sense) is sex. You talked about it once, a while ago, before you and him were really even a thing; back when you were just awkwardly and intensely bantering. It was one of those weird conversations where you don't even remember why you were talking about it. You shared you didn't have a lot of experience but the stuff you'd tried had been pretty diverse; a small but well rounded education. He confessed he's never done it. Any version of it. He only ever kissed a girl when he was 14.

So, when you and him started _being a thing,_ you let him hold the reigns. You've stayed well clothed and pg-13 under his direction. You would _love_ to do more but… you also want him to know you're happy with whatever he wants to do. It's _all_ good. But your indecision on how to phrase that has lead to you saying nothing at all.

Sex is one of those things that can get messy; prone to strong emotion, hurt feelings, anxiety, misunderstandings. Talking is the best way to prevent that. You're supposed to be this blunt open honest person; the fact that you've been none of that for _multiple topics_ has been leaving you with a constant feeling of dissonance. What you're doing is wrong for you and you know it.

But right now you're going to broach a completely different difficult topic. "Sans?"

His arm squeezes you a tiny bit tighter. "Yeah Kiddo?" he says, voice sounding sleepy.

"I think we need to focus on one other thing," you start.

"Yeah? What's that?"

"Our plan; to figure out how to stop the anomaly so time doesn't reset. It's a good plan. But we have no way to know how much time we have."

He sighs. He doesn't want to talk about this, but it's too important not to think about.

"If we don't make it in time," you continue, "you're going to have to finish our work. You can't do that if you forget everything. We need to learn how to control the memories, how to have you remember more and remember faster."

"I know," he says, surprising you. "I've started to do that… started learning how the memories work. Meditation helps a lot. Remembering them feels a little like... fishing with bare hands, it's hard to grab onto anything and there's not a lot of control over which memories come back. But I've noticed emotional intensity seems to make the memories much easier to hold onto."

You think about the implications of that. "Wait… does that mean you might remember me but... not necessarily the research we've been doing?"

"Yeah," he says, having made that conclusion already.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you make another logical step. Well, at least this solves your other dilemma, just not the way you wanted. "We can't have sex, Sans," you say sadly.

"Probably better if we don't, yeah..." he sighs. And he sounds sad about it. It's a bittersweet realization to know he wanted it too. He squeezes you again and adds, "But if we can figure the Skeleton Key out then we can stop the timeline collapse completely. We can... have as many emotionally charged moments as we want."

"How's that for motivation," you joke and then immediately regret it. The motivation isn't to have _sex._

It's not losing each other forever.

You wake up.

. . .

Anything Yet?

To: Kate

Date: October 28, 2017

From: Me

Are you having any luck? I'm really starting to despair... I just want so badly to find him.

But I'm so lost as to how.

. . .

You and Sans sit on a blanket at the top of a hill. There are intermittent streaks of interplanetary rock burning up in the Earth's atmosphere. You're holding hands, interlocked fingers, a warm point of contact that's more distracting than the astronomical show you're trying to watch.

You feel at peace despite all the unknowns.

Like…  
You probably live in a simulation.  
The timeline could collapse tomorrow.  
The Skeleton Key still doesn't work.

You look over at Sans and feel happy anyway. You have this moment. And right now that's enough.

Looking back at the stars you wonder out loud, "If this is a simulation, do you think sentient minds are the same thing as souls?"

Sans turns to you. "...maybe." He shrugs. "Why do you ask?"

"I was just thinking about the complexity of programming the Universe; quantum physics to the cosmos. Each sentient mind would be a lot of code. Maybe, because of limitations, they reuse sentient minds. Maybe that's reincarnation."

"It's an interesting theory."

"It would be wasteful to destroy a sentient mind once it's lived it's life," you state, possibly wishful thinking. After a moment you wonder, "Do you think we've met before? In a prior life?"

Sans turns back to the stars. "Sometimes it feels like it," he confesses.

"Yeah, I feel that too." You lean and bump his shoulder with yours. "Thanks for being in my life, Sans."

He turns back to you and searches your face. Then he reaches up to trace your lips; so gently, it's just skin fluttering against skin. Your lower lip trembles, the desire you have for him just keeps building with no chances for release. You let out a shaky breath, "Is it ever going to stop feeling like that?"

"If we're lucky," he answers.

You don't understand that answer. "What do you mean?"

"Everything changes, Stardust. If we get to be together long enough for that to change, we'd be lucky."

"If we're lucky," you repeat, like agreement. It's a reminder to enjoy each moment for what it is. And in this moment?

You _really_ want to be closer to Sans.

He watches you as you shift to your knees then move your legs so you have a knee on each side of his. You put your hand on his chest and gently push. He leans back, propped by his hands. As you move forward he moves back until he's laying down and you're holding yourself up above him.

You lean down and kiss his forehead, cheek, then chin. He turns his head to the side giving you full access and you kiss down his neck. His eyes are closed and you can hear and _feel_ his quiet moan. He's enjoying this at least as much as you are.

You think about how you'd like to get at the rest of his body. He's so responsive. He squirms under you and you stop long enough to smirk at him. He takes in your face; your smirking lips, your flushed cheeks. 

He grabs your wrist, pulls it out from under you. You lose balance and you fall onto him. "My turn," he says. He rolls you onto your back, reverses your positions, pins your wrist above your head. You exhale in surprise and feel a spike of heat shoot through you at the manhandling. You grab his wrist like you want to flip him over and switch again. He shifts quickly to hold your wrist instead and pins both arms above your head. You try to move your arms and can't. Heat spikes through you again; your breathing goes funny. _Damn,_ Sans is strong. _Why is that such a turn on?_

"Your expression-- _fuck, Stardust_ \--this is really working for you, isn't it?"

 _"ah-h_...pparently," you breathe.

He moves both your wrists to one hand and still has no trouble holding you even when you struggle.

 _"Ohh...fuck_ that's _hot,"_ you exhale.

"You're not wrong," he says gruffly. Then he slides his free hand down your arm, slowly, sensually. Reaching your head he moves to touch your face, thumb along your cheekbone. His trails his fingertips around your lips... down your neck... chest, pausing for a moment over your heart. When he reaches your stomach he slides just his thumb under the hem of your shirt and trails it, a feather-light touch, against your bare skin, belly button to obliques.

It's almost too much--between the restriction on your arms--the sensual but teasing touch--the lack of contact where you're really starting to want it. _"Sans,"_ you beg.

He shifts so one knee is on the ground between your legs and then leans, just a little, and gives you some delicious pressure right where you want it.

 _"Fuck yes,"_ you moan in approval, roll your hips against him.

He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head slightly, _"...god...Stardust"_ he groans, "...I need to stop." He flops onto his back next to you.

"Fuckin A," you pant. So worked up and whip-lashed right now. You look over and take in the sight of him, chest moving up and down quickly, hands fisted at his sides, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"That was..." you say articulately.

"...yeah," he agrees.

You wake up.

. . .

You scroll up your text history with Sans, there is a conversation in particular that you've been thinking about.

sans  
  
**9/15/17** 6:05 PM  
Me: Hey, what's going on? Thought you'd be here by now. I'm about to start the stimulation without you.  
  
sans: well, wouldn't wanna miss that  
  
Me: *simulation. Duck this phone.  
  
Me: *fuck tits phone.  
  
Me: OH MY GOD *THIS BONER.  
  
Me:    
  
Me: JUST WHERE ARE YOU?!!  
  
Me: Come save me from myself!  
  
sans: working on it  
  
sans: Papyrus is just lecturing me about how my "sock fetish" is unhealthy  
  
Me: You have a sock fetish?  
  
Me: That information is extremely relevant to my interests.  
  
sans: i'm not sure he really knows the meaning of the word fetish  
  
Me: So you don't have a sock fetish?  
  
sans: i didn't say that  
  
Me: askldjghalsdkgj   
  
Me: You're fuckin with my emotions right now dude.  
  


You smirk at him in his position at the table from your seat on the couch.

"So, let's talk about your sock fetish," you say without preamble.

He blushes blue and you feel a bit sadistically gleeful.

He, quite obviously, avoids looking at you. "Nothing to tell," he shrugs.

"Like is it the socks themselves?" you continue, ignoring his dismissal, "Or the person you like wearing socks? Wearing just socks? Wearing a specific kind of socks? I am dying to know more about this. You know, _for science."_

He finally looks over at you. "How about instead we talk about how much you enjoyed me holding your arms down while we fooled around the other day."

"Oh, this is a fight you will not win, Hot Sauce. I happily claim my kinks, this is about _you_ claiming _yours_."

"Heh, _no."_

Well, looks like you have to ante up. You lay back on the couch and move your arms up above your head. "You can hold me down while you tell me… if you want." You can see him debate but you know you're just too tempting, spread out and vulnerable like this.

He quickly gives in and comes over. He moves your wrists so he can hold them both with one hand against the armrest. You resist for a second just so you can feel him easily keep you trapped. His strength is sexy, partly because it's so understated; knowing it--feeling it--feels intimate.

He smirks at you. You're being so obvious. But, _come on,_ it's seriously fucking _hot._

He places his knees on the couch between your legs and you spread a little wider so he fits. Then he aggravatingly holds his body just a little too far away.

He started doing this very _physical_ type of teasing. It's all new to him so he approaches it with an earnestness you find adorable and a passion you find irresistible.

He leans down to touch his forehead to yours, an action both sweet and hot. He backs up to meet your eyes and answers, voice a tone deeper than normal, "Has to be on the person. Striped socks are best. With other clothes or only socks, it's all good."

"Noted," you say, "Thank you." Your voice is husky too.

He moves his other hand to your waist and slides his fingers under your shirt. Every point of contact on your bare skin feels like it sends fire dancing through your veins.

You want to push your hips up so you can feel him against you. You want him to undo the button on your jeans and touch areas on your body he's never touched before.

You look up, he has his eyes shut, completely focused on touching you. His cheeks are shaded and his breathing fast.

"Fuck," he looks so fuckable. He opens his eyes and you just stare; no movement but your mingling breaths. The pair of you embody the hottest kind of frozen.

"I want you so bad," you confess.

"Makes two of us," he says gruffly. He rolls his hips down against you, and for one blissful moment you know exactly how turned on he is; hardness pressed against your body exactly where you want it to be. You let out an involuntary moan. Then you feel ache, almost physical, as it's quickly taken away.

 _Oh fuck_ \--you want that in you--on you--in your hand-- _something_ \--just closer and without these multiple layers of clothing between you.

He moves off you and sits down, leaning his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. He's attempting to bring his breathing back to a more regular pace. It's not working well.

"You've gotten really good at that--Teasing," you pant as you sit up too.

"Too good I think," he breathes.

He takes one hand, just for a quick moment, and adjusts himself, his hips almost involuntarily chasing the pressure.

You think about how badly his dick wants to be touched right now and feel your mouth water like it's volunteering.

"I need to go--be--not here--" you say, quickly getting up and moving towards the bathroom. "For your own safety. I am-- _fuck_ \--shouldn't have looked" you shake your head, eyes averted again. His head was still tipped back, eyes shut, chest moving quickly up and down with panting breaths, but now his hands are fisted, twisting handfuls of the fabric of his shorts, like he's barely keeping them from touching something else.

You move quickly and don't let yourself look back this time. When you close the door you slump against it. You put your hand over your fast heartbeat, "Oh _fuck,"_ then you start to slowly drag your hand down your body like you wish Sans would do again. You pause just above your jeans. _Fuck you want him to touch you so bad._

You move your other hand over your stomach, hook half your fingers under the hem of your shirt and pull your hand up, sliding the shirt up with it.

The hand at your jeans touches the soft bare skin of your stomach. You slide your thumb down just inside the waistband of your jeans. You press down at the fabric band; just a teasing amount of pressure against yourself from your hand above your jeans--

 _Ah, fuck,_ you're so worked up. And then you wonder if Sans is doing anything to himself right--

 _Oh, god, you can't think about that now_ \--

You quickly move your hands off your body and place them on your head.

Focus. _Focus you dork._ You know the drill. _No sex till you figure this shit out._

 _Focus._ You've still got work to do.

You move to the sink and put cold water on your hands and then your face. You see yourself in the mirror. You bite your lip.

You look just like you feel; wrecked.

And so fucking turned on.

You wake up.

. . .

"Kiddo, where's our notebook?" Sans asks.

You smirk but don't look up. "I don't know Sans. Did you check the fridge? That's where it was last time."

He turns toward you at your seat on the couch and says defensively, "There was a logical explanation for that… I just don't remember what I made up when I explained it."

You snort a surprised laugh. It was a good explanation, even funnier now that you know he pulled it out of his ass. You glance at him and see his warm smile at your chuckle.

He goes back to looking around the room. You studiously keep your attention on the homework you're "doing" and don't watch him fail to find it.

It doesn't take him long to notice you aren't watching him with amusement like you should be.

"Whataya hiding?" he asks.

"Uh, what was that, Hot Sauce," you say, feigning distraction, "Hiding?"

"You are so terrible at lying," he teases, "Give me the notebook, Stardust."

You look up at him now that he's finally figured it out. He stalks toward you and your breath speeds up.

He notices.

"Only if you can find it," you challenge breathlessly.

He reaches you but, instead of looking for the notebook, he places his knees on the couch, framing your legs; straddling you. He puts his hands on the back of the couch and leans in. You lean back and look up feeling surprised, pleasantly dominated, and more excited then you should be considering you're barely touching.

He looks at your lips and reaches up. You suck in a sharp breath and close your eyes. You wait for the contact but, instead of fingertips against lips, you feel his hand slide to your back and pull the notebook from it's hiding place.

Your eyes shoot open in surprise. He's looking very smug.

"Ooh, well played, Hot Sauce," you say.

He notices then that the notebook is considerably thicker than normal.

"I got you something, look inside." You try not to sound as nervous as you are. It almost works.

He opens the notebook warily, probably expecting a prank like the rubber band butterfly he put in the notebook a couple weeks ago. The expression on his face shifts when he gets to the page with the makeshift taped-pocket you made and pulls out a pair of multi-colored striped socks. The socks don't match in the slightest.

"They're called Solmates," you explain. "I got two pairs; pink and blue stripes for you, purple and blue stripes for me. Even the "matching" pairs don't quite match. But I decided it would be even better for us to have one of each color."

He holds them in his hand and just stares at them. You start to worry. It it because the of pink? You thought it was safe to tease him about the pink, but maybe you were wrong? Or maybe getting the two of you _matching_ socks is overdoing it?

"It's really fucking dorky, I know," you waver. You take a deep breath and decide to just own it. You shrug, a tad pitiful and admit, "I'm a fuckin' sap for you Sans."

He looks at you and you stop worrying. He leans down and touches your foreheads together.

"Makes two of us, Stardust," he says softly. You sigh-moan your contentment.

"So you like them?" you ask tentatively.

"I love 'em," he says.

You wake up.

. . .

Your phone rings, it's Sans. He's never called before--you pick up right away.

"Where are you?" Sans asks before you say anything.

"Just got out of class, why?"

"It's happening." You hear panic in his voice; you know exactly what he's talking about.

Your throat is suddenly tight. "I need to see you," you say.

"Uh--the roof of the Physics building," he says quickly.

"Of course," you drop your bag to the floor and start running.

Three flights of stairs, two doors. The last one is locked but you have a key. Your hands are shaking--you fumble, you drop it-- _"fuck"_ \--you succeed the second time and open the door.

Sans is here. You made it in time.

You cover the last three feet and fall into his arms. You squeeze your eyes shut and just hold each other, your arms around his neck, his arms around your waist. You move back enough to frame his face with your hands. You touch your forehead to his and he gets a little wet from the tears running down your face.

He looks at you, reaches up to cradle your chin with his hand, traces your lips with his thumb. You close your eyes and focus on the way his skin feels against you.

"You're such a sap, Stardust," he says affectionately. You hickup a laugh. He's not wrong. You lean into his touch, turn your head and press your lips to his palm. You turn to hold his eyes. You cover his hand with yours.

"That nickname is still awful," you say.

He chuckles. "Keep telling yourself that, Kiddo. You might start believing it."

"It's just _so..."_ you complain ineffectively.

"And yet you secretly love it," his eyes smirk.

You let out a soggy huff. "You're not wrong," you grumble. You squeeze him again, breathe in his cedar and grill smell.

"Think you'll remember me?" he says, hushed, close to your ear.

"I could never forget you," you answer honestly. You really believe that. You'll do everything you can to make it not a lie. "You'll remember me?" you return the question.

"Always," he whispers. He pulls you closer with the arm still at your waist. "Fuck, this can't be the end," he sounds just as heartbroken as you feel.

You wish you could say it won't be but you can't know that. ...maybe you can do everything in your power to make sure it's not. "We need to make a plan, Sans. How long do we have?"

"I don--

everything goes black... foggy black emptiness... the emptiness slides away into Nothing... you grasp for it... but everything is fading... you focus all the power you have into--A voice. You hear a voice. Your own voice... wake up--remember him--you have to remember him-- remember sans--you have to remember sans--wake up idiot--wake up-- _wake up_ \----[Wake up.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13097934/chapters/29979987#pagetop)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the end.


	3. search

go back and search the darkness for your memories


End file.
